


Afterword

by fructosebat



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Mentions of Mental Illness, Mentions of PTSD, Post-Episode S03E10
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-20 16:31:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6016606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fructosebat/pseuds/fructosebat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This began as three post-show vignettes for Season 3, Episode 10: Incident at Stone Manor, but now it's developing into a slightly longer, chaptered story. There's feels and shippy stuff that many of us were hoping to see in the series. </p><p>Now AU because of Ep. 11.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> I meant these scenes to be more cohesive, but they sort of read like individual vignettes. I needed to get my Ichabbie feels out of my brain wicked bad. Un-beta'ed, sorry about that - let me know if I made any typos or glaring errors, eh?
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

They sat in the archives awhile and talked, the relief palpable in the air. Abbie told them briefly of her Adventures in Boredom (her phrase), though she seemed reluctant to reveal much detail beyond the practical: the environment of the ‘catacombs,’ how she’d mapped the place, her conversation with Pandora, how she’d escaped. When Joe asked after her strategy to keep herself occupied, Abbie had exchanged a look with Crane, and told them merely that she’d played chess.

In turn, Jenny, Joe, and Crane caught her up on the happenings in the real world, and in the supernatural one. Crane tried to tone down his blatant recklessness in the stories, but Abbie clearly wasn’t fooled. 

Through all the conversation, Abbie seemed shifty, nervous, slightly overwhelmed by the people around her.

And through all the conversation, she and Crane found ways to touch one another. Bumping shoulders, squeezing each other’s hands, any excuse to remain in contact. When the group finally made their way to Jenny’s car, Jenny watched Abbie keep a too-tight grip on Crane’s bicep, as if he’d fly away without her holding him down to Earth.

They went to Abbie’s house, and by mutual agreement ordered some food for delivery.

“I’m hungry for the first time in ten months,” said Abbie, with a uncharacteristically uncertain smile. “Buy me dinner?”

Jenny laughed. “We got you back. Expect me to spoil you for a while.”

“Yeah, we’ll see how long that lasts,” put in Joe.

They got a giant spread from a local pizza place, and ate off paper plates in the dining room (Crane had neglected the dishes in Abbie’s absence). 

Jenny drank in the sight of her older sister. It was funny – she’d spent so much time resenting Abbie, adamant to never see her again, to never forgive her for her abandonment, and now her presence was soothing, in a way Jenny thought she’d never experience again, not after August Corbin had died. Now she had Joe, shockingly enough Crane, and Abbie – God, she had Abbie back. If Crane hadn’t been too busy using a napkin to wipe pizza grease off Abbie’s cheek, Jenny would’ve engulfed her sister in a crushing hug and had a hard time letting her go.

As it was, she was starting to feel a little like she was intruding on something private. It hardly seemed fair. Abbie was _her_ sister. 

“Hey,” she said, as Abbie pushed away her plate – she’d only managed a slice of pizza and a few fries, “natural’s a good look on you.” Jenny gave into the impulse to tug on a lock of her sister’s hair.

Abbie’s hand twitched to her curls involuntarily. “Yeah, you would say that,” she said, grinning, and more deliberately reached out to pull at Jenny’s hair. Then suddenly she was shifty again. “I’m gonna – ” Abbie gestured, nervous, to the staircase. Her eyes had been wide and wild all night, and they were darting around the room even now. “I think, I – um.”

“Of course, Lieutenant,” said Crane. “Ten months with no rest – I’d think you’ve rather earned a good sleep.” 

“We should get going anyway,” said Joe. “I’ll clean up.” Gathering the paper plates, he started shifting the detritus of the meal ( _lots_ of leftovers. Jenny really did plan to spoil her sister for as long as she could) to the kitchen.

Crane stood up politely as Abbie excused herself, and her hand drifted slowly from his as she exited the room. He stood watching after her for a long moment.

Jenny finally said what had been on her mind since Crane’s spirit had returned to his body. Since he’d held Abbie’s hand so solemnly and cracked a damned joke about chess. “You’re a coward.”

His voice was hushed, shoulders slumped as he spoke, still facing the stairs. “I know I am.”

***

It was 2:37 in the morning and Ichabod still lay awake, staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t imagine how Miss Jenny and Master Corbin could stand to take their leave; he’d spent the hours since the Lieutenant had retired to her bedchamber reassuring himself. _She’s returned. She’s here. She’s not leaving us again._

Several times he’d found himself standing, as though to pace to her room and check that she was within, mind inventing excuses: _‘You must be relieved to see the moon once again, Lieutenant,’_ and _‘Apologies for intruding on your sanctum during your absence – as you know, I had thought the mirror demon was you,’_ and even, absurdly, _‘I wanted to ensure you had enough blankets. I know the temperature remained constant in the catacombs, and it has grown chill here.’_ Every time he’d halted, mid-motion. She likely required solitude after her ordeal. Too much contact with others after so long an isolation had certainly overstimulated her senses.

The floor creaked in the hallway, and Ichabod sat up. Footsteps passed by his door. _She’s using the lavatory,_ he told himself. Seconds later, the footsteps passed in the other direction. On the third pass, he stood and cracked open his door. The Lieutenant was pacing, agitated. At the sound of the door, she turned abruptly, eyes wide and startled.

“Lieutenant? Are you well?”

“Fine. Crane.” Her breathing was shallow, quick. 

“Pardon me, but you do not seem fine.”

“I’m fine. Really. Just can’t sleep. Mind keeps – spinning.” She made a spinning motion by her head. Her brow creased. “Why are you awake?”

“I have a – similar issue.” There was an awkward pause. The Lieutenant stood, looking oddly vulnerable in her bare feet and long sleep shirt. ‘Vulnerable’ was not a word Ichabod would apply lightly to the Lieutenant, even in his own head. Slight she may be, but weak she was assuredly not. “Is there anything I can do to assist?” he asked finally.

“No.” Her voice was sharp. Then she bit her lip, tilting her head. “Maybe,” she acquiesced. “I don’t know.”

Ichabod stepped fully into the hall, and after a moment of thought, opened his arms. The Lieutenant regarded him hesitantly, face twitching, unsure. “Please, Lieutenant. I know it would help _me._ ” Finally, she stepped forward and let him enfold her in an embrace, her arms wrapped tight around his middle. He sighed gently into her hair, and he felt the tense muscles of her back slowly begin to unwind.

They stood there in the chilly hallway holding each other for quite some time.

_She’s here. She’s not leaving us again._

***

Abbie’s eyes snapped open as the sun was rising, and she was in her bedroom.

She wasn’t in her bedroom. She couldn’t be in her bedroom. And the sun couldn’t be rising; the sun was in the sky, the sun was _always_ in the sky, always overhead, never setting, never rising.

Frantic, she looked around herself: same bedroom, her closet open with her Official FBI Agent business clothing hanging inside, same IKEA nightstand beside her bed with the same lamp, the same alarm clock – same books on her bureau, same dish with her spare change.

It was a trick. Had to be. Pandora or her damned boytoy, trying to drive her crazy, tease her with a glimpse of home, those bastards. She levered herself out of her ‘bed.’ There must be a way to unravel the illusion, some way to reveal that they were behind this. Determined, she grasped at her bedspread, yanking it to the floor. Nothing, no gaps in the illusion. Fine. She’d solved harder puzzles than this.

First she threw the books at her wall, and they struck, THUMP, THUMP. This was a damned good deception, Pandora was going to be a hard one to beat, she was powerful, too powerful – next went her alarm clock, which smashed against the wall over her bureau, pieces landing in the change dish, among her perfumes and lotions, on the floor where she stepped on them, cutting her foot as she went to seize a lamp from the side table. The mirror in front of her, the mirror, they’d always been seen as portals, right? Standing back at a safe distance, she hurled the lamp as hard as she could, and shards from both mirror and lamp came tumbling down. 

Well, if she couldn’t break the spell, at least this was cathartic.

The door crashed open, and it was –

“No,” Abbie breathed. This was too cruel. 

The imposter-Crane quickly took in the destruction in the room, and tensed as if bracing for a fight. “Is there an intruder?”

She spoke to herself, “You’re not real, he’s not _real,_ Abbie, calm down, you can find a way out of this – ” Touching her hands defensively to her belly, her chest, her shoulder, she backed away and ran her palms over her hair, inadvertently tugging off the cloth she'd had covering it. “It’s a trick, it’s a _trick_ – ” She bolted for her nightstand, grabbed the thin lamp from there, hefted it, yanked the cord out of the ‘wall.’

“Lieutenant…” Glancing behind her, she saw the fake Crane approaching her as if approaching a rabid animal. “Whatever you think is happening – I’m here, I promise you, I’m real.”

“Pandora,” Abbie called out, eyes roaming the ‘room,’ “stop this, whatever game you’re playing, stop it!”

“You escaped the catacombs, Lieutenant. Think. You just woke up, you slept for the first time in ten months. It’s over. You’re home, you’re really here.”

Christ, he looked so damned _concerned._ Abbie had been prepared to send the lamp through one of the windows, but now she raised it towards him. “This’ll go right through you. You’re like a hologram or something. Or if you’re not, you’re an enemy – Pandora or something – and it’ll hurt, and you can stop trying to _torture me_ by showing me my partner.” Her voice broke. She was on the verge of tears. _No. Be strong, Abbie._

Fake-Crane was still advancing, slowly. He was in his nightclothes, walking over broken mirror glass with his goofy giant bare feet. 

And – God – tracking blood into the room, over her carpet. Abbie felt herself falter, the arm holding the lamp wavering in midair. “Crane?”

“I won’t hurt you,” he said, stepping still closer, hand out. “Remember, I came to find you – my astral form. Pandora cut my tether, but you saved me, Abbie, you brought me back – ”

“Oh, God,” she choked, as the memories came flooding back into her mind. “Crane, no, stop, your feet,” tears tracked their way down her cheeks, “stop, you’re bleeding.”

Closing the gap between them, Crane pulled her into a tight hug. The lamp crashed to the floor and Abbie clutched at him. She tried to bite it back, but a sob forced its way out of her throat. “I’m going crazy, I’ve cracked, I’m going crazy just like my mom…”

“No, no, shhhh,” Crane said, and smoothed a hand up and down on her back, comfortingly. “You’re not, you’re all right, anyone would be out of sorts after what’s happened to you.”

“Your feet,” she said, trying to pull away to look at the damage, but he reeled her back in.

“They’ll keep.”

“I’m so sorry, Crane.”

Now he pulled away from her, maintaining a hold on her arms, looking her in the eyes. “You’ve nothing to apologize for. This is normal.”

“I smashed a mirror!”

“I knew soldiers, in the war, who would raise their guns to others in the same army when startled. I, myself, used to take fright in non-combat situations when a loud noise went off nearby – I would think myself back on the battlefield, I would find a place to hide, seek a weapon.”

“Post-traumatic stress,” said Abbie. “You think I have post-traumatic stress?”

“I think that you have been through a trauma,” he assured her. “But you are the strongest person I know. Abbie.” When she tried to turn her gaze to the floor, Crane put his hands to her face and guided her to look back at him. “You’re not crazy. You will be well. You will get through this.”

Abbie felt her resolve stiffen. “I will get through this.” She sniffled. “Trust you, Crane, to always pull me back from the brink.”

“You’ve always done the same for me.” He brushed a thumb over her cheekbone, tenderly, myriad emotions crossing his face. “My God, Abbie, I’m such a coward.”

Clasping his hand to her face, Abbie shook her head fervently. “You’re not.”

“No, I am,” he said, breathless, and surged forward, pressing his lips to hers.

It took her a second, then Abbie was pressing into the kiss as hard as Crane was. It was chaste, their mouths still closed, but no less passionate for that. She reached up with her other hand, the one not grasping his on her cheek, and fisted it into his hair, pulling him closer –

Before he abruptly ripped away from her, babbling, “Lieutenant, I – apologies, in your moment of need, I – selfishly – I shouldn’t have – I’m so sorry – ” He beat a hasty retreat from her bedroom.

Leaving Abbie standing, silent and breathless, fingertips of one hand pressed to her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unexpected continuation if you click to the next chapter...


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The entirely unexpected continuation of what was meant to be a one-shot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the love, readers! <3
> 
> I hadn't meant to continue this, but then ideas turned up in my head and I had to write them. Figured I'd get some of it up before the new episode tonight. Apologies if it's a little rough - this is again unbeta'ed.

Folding his hands on his desk, Daniel Reynolds leaned forward in his seat, eyes hard. “You’re claiming that you don’t remember _anything._ ”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“It has been over a month.”

“Don’t know what to tell you.” Abbie shrugged, eyebrows raised, lips pressed tightly together. “It’s all a blur.”

Reynolds tapped a hand on his desk, standing up and pacing to the corner of his office. “You expect me to actually believe this nonsense?”

“It’s the truth, sir.”

“We both know it’s not true,” he said, voice rising in volume. “Don’t lie to me, Agent Mills. As your superior, I am _ordering_ you—”

“Oh, am I an agent?” asked Abbie, squaring her jaw and rising from her seat. “Because last I remember, I had quit the FBI.”

“Under _very_ suspicious circumstances.”

“ _Whatever_ the circumstances, I had resigned, and—” Just then there was a loud squeaking noise from the hallway – someone’s wet boot sliding across the floor – but Abbie whirled sharply toward the sound, tense. A second later, a large hand landed on her shoulder and Abbie gasped and stiffened further.

“Mills – you okay?”

Stepping away from Daniel’s hand and his big, concerned face, Abbie wrapped her arms around her stomach. “I’m great. Sir.” She could feel a false smile, nearly a grimace, stretching wide across her face. “You know, I am just dandy. I could go for a frolic in the rain right now. I think I’m gonna go do that.”

Reynolds backed off, obviously noting her distress. “I’m not accepting your resignation.”

She blinked. “Sir?”

“You’re too good of an agent, Abbie. You have too much potential.” She rubbed a thumb across her other hand, soothing herself, as she watched him, trying to keep her emotions off her face. “Once you’ve sufficiently…recovered…from whatever it is that happened that you’re not telling me, we’ll have a conversation about what happened with Nevins, and with your sister. Until then, you’re on leave.” He tilted his head towards her, eyes going soft. “Take a week, Abbie.”

Biting the inside of her lip, Abbie forced a nod and walked stiffly from the room.

Only to run into Sophie Foster before she’d exited the building.

“Mills!”

“Foster,” said Abbie, stifling a yawn, focused on getting to her car.

“I can’t believe it…Crane’s spirit journey—or whatever it was—it worked?”

“It did.” Abbie lowered her voice, hoping Foster would follow suit. “Jenny and Joe said you had some fun with a living gargoyle while I was away?”

“That and a mirror-monster,” said Foster, shrugging a shoulder in false nonchalance.

“We’ll have to—to talk another—” Abbie couldn’t force this yawn down, so she covered her mouth. “—talk another time,” she finished. “Sorry. Didn’t get much sleep.”

“Me either,” confessed Foster. “Weird dreams. _Very_ weird dreams. So is there gonna be a welcome back party for you or something? I can bring cake.”

“I think we’re keeping parties to a minimum at the moment,” Abbie said, glancing behind her at the spot where the agent’s boot had squeaked so loudly against the floor. “Listen, Foster, I gotta take off.”

“Sure. Glad to see you’re home safe!” called Foster as Abbie pushed her way through the doors.

“Safe. Right,” said Abbie under her breath.

***

When Joe walked into the archives after his EMT shift, ready to divulge the information he’d learned at work, he walked into an argument.

“—have _no_ idea what you’re talking about, Shakespeare!” Jenny shouted, pointing angrily at Crane.

“Don’t call me that,” Crane growled.

“Maybe I’d call you something different if you actually started dressing like you live in _this century._ ”

“I happen to like my clothes—”

“Please! You _like_ being a walking anachronism.” Jenny flung her hands up in the air and took a few steps, imitating Crane, “‘Oh, Miss Jenny, I can’t possibly get a _real-person_ job, I don’t know _anything_ about 2016—’”

“That is not fair,” protested Crane, straightening in that prissy way he did when he was defensive. “Anyone I meet can determine—almost straightaway—a difference about me, and these peculiarities preclude me from—”

“You _cultivate_ it,” accused Jenny, turning on him. “Because it means you don’t have to pull your weight. What,” she said with a mocking laugh, “you think you’re too good to work at a bar, like me? You know, you think you’re so high-and-mighty with your clothes and your manners, but you’re not too stuck-up to drink soda and play video games on my sister’s couch. What’s it gonna be—?”

“Madam,” began Crane, drawing himself up, “your words reek of hypocrisy. You hold yourself—”

“ _Enough!_ ” cried Joe from the doorway. The pair turned to him, startled – they’d been so embroiled they hadn’t even noticed his entrance. “What the hell is going on here?”

Both Jenny and Crane were conspicuously silent, she standing with her arms crossed, and he with his hands clenched tightly behind his back, looking in opposite directions. Joe waited impatiently for a response, but he didn’t receive one – instead, Jenny stepped toward Crane and shoved him down into a chair, saying, “Sit the hell down, Crane, or you’re gonna bleed all over the inside of your ridiculous boots.”

“Why are his…?” asked Joe. “Why would your feet be bleeding?”

As Crane obstinately stood and limped his way over to the shelves behind the table, Jenny said, “Because _Shakespeare_ here,” Crane twitched, “walked barefoot across broken glass this morning.”

“The Lieutenant was in distress,” he said, seating himself at the table and flipping through a book. “You would have done the same.”

“Nooooo,” chided Jenny, moving closer. Joe followed her. “ _I_ would have stepped around the glass. Because _I_ may want to look after her, but _you_ get stupid for her.”

“I do nothing of the sort.”

“You kinda do,” Joe put in.

“It’s so sweet,” Jenny cooed, putting her hands under her chin and batting her eyelashes. “He even cooked her breakfast. Made her some pancakes.”

“If we’re striving for accuracy, I burned her some pancakes,” muttered Crane, sounding bitter.

“Crane, you need to get over your stiff upper lip and just—”

“Miss Jenny—”

“— _do_ something already, the two of you drive me crazy—”

“Miss _Jenny_ —”

“—and I would know from crazy, since I’m the only one around here who’s actually been committed—”

“Miss Jenny, please stop.” Closing the book in front of him, he put his hands on the table, where his fingers twitched for a moment before he forcefully stilled them. He was so clearly disturbed that it actually shut Jenny up, and the archives were filled with a silence that hung heavy in the air. The only sound was a soft pattering against the windows: outside, it had begun to rain.

“Oh, damn,” she said, after a minute. “You made a move.”

Another moment of stillness, then Crane abruptly pushed his chair back from the table and limped, once again, to the shelves. “We should be focusing on what threats we may be facing in the near future. I’ve been working on a list…”

“Crane—” she began.

“Please, Miss Jenny.” He stood with his face away from her, shoulders hung low, body turned just enough that Joe could see his knuckles turning white from the grip he had on his book.

“I have some news,” Joe put out into the awkward silence. “About something possibly monster-related.”

For the first time, Jenny seemed to truly notice that he was in the room. Her stance visibly softened. “Sorry, Joe.”

“Maybe we should try not to fight until we’ve dealt with our little Monsterpalooza issue?” he suggested. Jenny nodded, and stepped forward to kiss Joe on the cheek. When she leaned back, hand on his arm, he searched her eyes and said quietly, “Okay?” Jenny nodded once more, and moved to the table.

“So. Monster?” she queried, and sat down, all business. Joe sat beside her, then looked to Crane, who was still staring down at the book clutched tightly in his hands.

“Hey, you might want to sit down if your feet are injured,” Joe offered.

Crane snapped out of it. “As always, I bow to your medical advice, Master Corbin,” he said, sounding entirely normal – though Joe noticed that he sat in the chair farthest from Jenny.

“Something happened at work today. Someone was attacked,” began Joe. “Gored by a bull. But the weird part is, this guy shouldn’t have been anywhere near a bull – he lived miles away from the farm where he was found. And the farm didn’t even _keep_ bulls.”

“How did he get there?” asked Crane.

“He said he was sleepwalking. That he had a dream he got in his car and drove to an amusement park with his kids, and took them to the petting zoo – and that he woke up when the pony he was feeding an apple to turned into a giant bull with twisted horns.”

“That works as an alarm clock,” snorted Jenny.

Crane was looking thoughtful. “Can anyone back up this man’s claims?”

“I didn’t really get to talk to anyone else, since I was on shift. And okay, the guy was on some pretty heavy painkillers by the time he started talking to me, but one of my coworkers, Beth, said that some woman had had the same injuries yesterday, and had told Beth that she was sleepwalking, too.”

Crane dove for the bookshelves again, moving briskly despite the clear wince of pain on his face. “There’s a type of demon – Sumerian, I believe – ”

“It’s a Gallu,” said Jenny.

“How did you – ?” Crane stopped in his tracks, hand wavering in midair before a row of books.

“I can know things, too,” Jenny said, amused. “The blue one, a little to the left.”

“Ah,” said Crane, locating the correct volume.  He flipped through the pages. “Yes, Miss Jenny, it appears that you are right. A Gallu is a ghostly bull or ox that roams at night, causing nightmares.”

“It’s not a coincidence, is it?” asked Joe. “That’s it’s Sumerian?”

“Could be,” said Jenny, unsure.

Crane caught her eyes across the table. “Probably not.”

Jenny held his gaze for a moment, then crossed her arms, looking away. “So how do we kill it?” Crane looked dismayed at her question. “Let me guess. Research.”

At Crane’s nod, Joe let out a sigh. “Research,” he said, resolute.

As Crane retrieved several pertinent volumes from the shelves, muttering to himself, Jenny’s phone let out a chime. “It’s Abbie,” she said, when she checked it. “Says she’s coming back here. Like hell she is.” Jenny spoke out loud as she tapped out a reply. “No…freaking…way. Go home…and get more sleep. We’ll…cover…for you.”

Joe’s eyes shot to Crane – normally he’d be the one receiving text updates from his partner – whose face was schooled into a practiced non-reaction. “Let us hope she takes your advice,” said Crane. “The Lieutenant could certainly use more rest to aid in her recovery.”

The phone pinged again. “Don’t argue with me!” scoffed Jenny at the device. “We need you…on your game. SLEEP.” _Ping!_ “Ugh, she’s so stubborn.” _Ping!_ “Yeah, you better listen.” Jenny set her phone aside, rolling her eyes. She looked to Crane. “Someone should go over there and keep an eye on her, in case she wakes up disoriented again.”

“I…” demurred Crane.

“Probably a good idea,” said Joe.

Jenny nodded. “You talked her down once.”

“Nevertheless, I believe I’m needed more here,” he protested, “if we are to prevent the Gallu harming anyone else, and keep Pandora and the Hidden One from enacting whatever plot they’ve—”

“Here,” said Jenny, stacking up a pile of books, “take some research home with you.”

“If I should discover something—”

“That’s what phones are for,” she said, exasperated. “Go! Quit moping, do something about your problems. Don’t wimp out on me now, Crane. You lived through the Revolution—”

“Ah,” he raised a finger, “ _technically—_ ”

“What _ever,_ Crane! You’ve faced down the actual horseman of Death. I think you’re capable of talking to the woman you l—”

“Going! I’m going,” he stood, gathering the books and hustling toward the door.

“Wow,” said Joe, once Crane had made his hasty exit. “You really don’t pull any punches.”

She flashed him a coy smile. “You knew that when you started dating me.”

“You sure you want to keep poking them, though? They might start to poke back, and, if I’m being honest…your sister can be kind of scary.”

“I know it’s none of my business,” she admitted, “but it’s not like they were gonna get their acts together on their own. Life’s too short to waste time,” she finished, the last sentence said almost to herself.

Joe fought down a smile. “Awww, look at you, taking care of your big sister.”

“Quit it!” she laughed, and shoved his shoulder. “She’s so much work.”

“Seriously, though. You look out for us.” Leaning over, he met her eyes. “You should know how much we appreciate it. Well, _I_ appreciate it. Not sure how much Abbie and Crane do.”

“They’ll appreciate it when I’m done with them,” said Jenny.

“That sounds ominous,” said Joe, half-joking.

“Good, it’s meant to be.” She turned back to the stacks of books on the table. “Gallu?”

“Gallu,” he agreed, and they started to read.

***

The Lieutenant was clattering about in the kitchen when Ichabod arrived home. Upon his entrance, she glanced at him, irritated. “What.”

“I apologize if I’m intruding—I was sent—that is to say, Miss Jenny sent me to…check that you were resting.”

“I’m a grown-ass woman, Crane.” The Lieutenant crossed her arms, leaning against the counter. “I don’t need any more sleep. And I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I didn’t mean to suggest—” he began, before stopping himself. “There was some concern you might need assistance upon waking.”

“Well,” she snipped, “that won’t actually be a problem, since I don’t plan on going to sleep anytime soon.” Eyeing the books he’d set on the counter, she asked, “What are those for?”

“Master Corbin stumbled across evidence of something that we believe is a Gallu, a Sumerian demon—”

“Sumerian?” She paced closer, reaching for the books.

“Lieutenant—” Just then, the oven timer dinged, and Abbie hurried to put on an oven mitt and pull the cookie sheet full of leftover pizza from the rack.

“Ow! Dammit!” The Lieutenant hissed between her teeth, dropping the cookie sheet with a clang to the stove and pulling off the oven mitt. Running cold water over her hand in the sink, she turned the oven mitt about with her other hand, inspecting it. “There’s a hole in this.”

“I know,” said Ichabod, regret lacing his words.

“You know?, and you couldn’t have taken the time to, I don’t know, _replace_ it in the month that I was away?” The Lieutenant switched off the tap angrily and wrapped the injured hand in a paper towel.

“I was rather busy with other things, as you might be aware,” he said, tightly.

Facing him properly, the Lieutenant’s face fell at his expression. “I’m sorry, Crane. I shouldn’t take this out on you.”

“Please, Lieutenant, I’m perfectly willing to be your punching bag if it will help you in any way.” Making an aborted move towards her, he asked, “May I—?” No. Better to stay on this side of the room. “How is your hand?”

Unwrapping it, she inspected it. “Looks fine. Stings a little.” Taking a few paces forward, she asked guiltily, “How are your feet?”

A mass of throbbing pain. “Quite well. I’m certain they’ll heal in no time.”

“You walked over shattered glass this morning and your feet are ‘quite well’?” The Lieutenant raised a doubtful eyebrow.

“Yes, just as you ‘don’t need any more sleep.’” Ichabod matched her raised eyebrow.

“Point taken,” she said, sighing. Pulling a plate from the cabinet, she transferred some pizza to it, then held it out to him, her face questioning. He shook his head in reply, and joined her when she sat at the kitchen island. “I’ll try to nap after I eat, but I don’t think it’s gonna do any good.

“Perhaps I could help? Make you…” he floundered. “A glass of warm milk?”

The Lieutenant paused, her mouth full of pizza, then started snorting through her nose. She took a sip of water and forced herself to swallow her mouthful before she started outright laughing. It was a deep, belly laugh, the first he’d seen from her since her return. It was a heavy weight lifted from his heart to see his Lieutenant profoundly amused (even at his expense) once more.

“Oh, _God,_ I needed that,” she finally managed, winding down.

“Glad to assist, I’m sure,” Ichabod returned with mock-irritation. For a moment their gazes locked warmly over the counter, and by the love of all that was holy, her eyes…

And then he remembered his entirely inappropriate advances of only hours before, and the weight of his impropriety settled heavily in his chest once more. “I ought to—begin my research.” Seizing the books, he made his way to the doorway. “Please do let me know if you should need anything.”

“Crane…”

When he looked over his shoulder, their eyes met again, and with a great force of will, Ichabod left her to her meal.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued after tonight's episode makes it AU. :-P


	3. 3

A breeze rattled the bedroom window and Abbie awoke instantly alert, eyes snapping open. Pushing herself upright, she darted her gaze around the dim room, pressing tense fingers into the cotton of her quilt.

 _It’s real, it’s real, it’s real,_ she reassured herself, the memories since her escape from the catacombs coming more readily to her mind. Still, she struggled out from underneath her blankets, still unaccustomed to lying in her _own damned bed_ , no longer used to the feeling of being trapped under the fabric. Heart pounding, she continued scanning the room, until Abbie’s eyes finally landed on the mirror frame on the wall, still bearing a few remaining shards of broken glass.

Crane. Always her touchstone, her pull to reality. Walking across broken glass for her. She had no doubt he’d walk through fire for her, take a bullet for her, whatever it took to protect her, and wasn’t that a scary thought.

The floor and bureau were cleared of glass, she realized – she hadn’t noticed when she’d come upstairs to attempt a nap. Crane must have snuck back up that morning – he’d hidden himself in the bathroom, presumably patching up his injured feet – while she’d gone downstairs to fix breakfast and have a few private moments to panic.

God, he’d kissed her. Abbie hardly knew what to do with that. She’d never thought he’d actually do anything that could conceivably jeopardize their close partnership. Of course she’d known how he felt about her – it was written all over his face when he looked at her, held in every line of his ridiculous, gangly frame – and, well, she’d known how she felt about _him…_

But he’d apologized to her. And hidden.

Glancing at her cell phone, she noted with frustration that she’d only managed 45 minutes of sleep. Still, it was better than nothing.

Pressing a hand to her chest, Abbie felt her heart still fluttering – clearly she was still unsettled, though she couldn’t for the life of her pin down why. _Guess that’s one of the gifts of a year in the catacombs. Thanks, Pandora._

There was the soft rasping sound of cloth against cloth as she slipped from the bed. Slipping on her robe and tying it as she went, Abbie padded her way downstairs. Crane turned at her approach, placing the book he’d had open on the coffee table.

“Lieutenant? Is anything amiss?”

Silent, she walked around the couch and settled herself next to him, curling her feet up under herself. Then she lifted his arm and draped it around her shoulders, resting her cheek against his chest and wrapping an arm snugly around his too-thin middle. (Had he been eating at _all_ while she was away? If so, it’d probably been just barely enough to keep him running. Oh, Crane.) She pulled herself closer and breathed him in, and no matter what strangeness was going on between them, she knew he’d always give her comfort if she needed it.

 _Maybe I’m being selfish,_ she thought. But for once, she couldn’t bring herself to give a damn.

“Abbie…”

“Crane. For once? Shush.”

Heaving a shaky sigh, he brought his other arm around her and pulled her close, tucking her head under his chin. After a moment, Abbie’s legs started to cramp from their awkward position, so without a word she adjusted, arranging her legs over his lap and tucking her feet into a gap in the cushions on the other side.

“Lieutenant, are you sure that you—?”

“Shhhhhh.”

Miraculously, he stopped talking, and instead tentatively brought a hand up under her hair and its protective cloth cover to rest, heavy and comforting, on the back of her neck.

At least ten minutes passed this way, and Abbie’s heart slowed to a more normal rhythm. The hand not wrapped around her partner’s middle was tucked up between her chest and his, and she found herself playing with the ties on his ridiculous antiquated shirt.

“Tell me about this Sumerian demon,” she said eventually.

At this he tried to pull away from her, presumably to go into lecture mode, but he let out an “oof” as she pulled him fiercely closer. Crane cleared his throat. “From what we can gather, it’s something called a Gallu. A demon that wanders at night, somehow affecting people’s dreams. Other than some evidence that Master Corbin uncovered that the Gallu likely takes the form of a bull, or some sort of horned animal, we can discover very little about it. The victims were found miles from their homes, and claimed that they’d been sleepwalking.”

Thankfully, Abbie’s mind was immediately captured by the problem. It was almost enough to make her forget that she had cuddled herself up on her partner’s lap. (Almost.) “Great. More dream monsters. Because we had so much fun with our nightmare monster last time.”

“Ro'kenhrontyes,” said Crane precisely, ever the pedant. “I’m sure I’ll never forget the scorpions.”

“I can’t believe that was three years ago.”

“Nor can I.” His hand drifted up, seemingly unbidden, to stroke her cheek with the backs of his fingers. Then his body tensed slightly with surprise and he dropped the hand back to her shoulder.

Clearing her throat, Abbie didn’t comment, saying instead, “We should try to interview at least one of the victims, get a clearer picture of what we’re dealing with.”

“Lieutenant,” Crane began, hesitant, “not that we could not use your considerable talents, but perhaps you should focus on getting more rest. I know that you’ve not gotten more than four hours of sleep since your return.”

Now she pulled away from him to look at his face, stern. Crane let his hand fall from her neck to the small of her back. “I’ve faced worse things than a witness interview on less sleep, and you know it,” she said, poking at his sternum. And she’d gotten closer to two hours of sleep. Not that she was counting.

“Nevertheless, your health is paramount. You’ve been through an ordeal, and should we have a run-in with—”

“Hell no, Crane. You’re not dealing with any dream demon without me. You wouldn’t let _me_ take down my personal nightmare alone, and we’d barely known each other three weeks at that point.”

An affectionate smile tugged at the corner of Crane’s lips. “You’re one of the most stubborn people I’ve ever met.”

She smiled right back at him, tucking his hair behind his ear. “Yeah, takes one to know one.” Rather than pulling her hand away, she left it resting against his beard, and the air crackled between them for a long moment as her eyes dropped to his lips.

Which was, of course, when her phone rang, startling them both. Shifting off of Crane’s lap, Abbie dug into the pocket of her robe. Caller ID read that the caller was – “Sophie Foster?” She swiped to answer the call.

***

Six-year-old Sophie Foster was ambling down the boardwalk, sun glaring too-brightly in her eyes. Slathered heavily with sunscreen, she was continually swiping her greasy hands against her pink elastic-waisted shorts in an effort to brush off the sand that had been picked up by the sunscreen.

Ahead of her, her mother called, “Sophie, keep up! Don’t want to lose you in this crowd. Come here.” Shielding her eyes from the sun, Sophie ran as fast as she could to her mother’s side, nearly tripping over her shoelace, which had come untied. Sophie’s dad noticed the shoelace and kneeled down to tie it for his daughter, and Sophie took the opportunity to steal his sunglasses.

“Hey!” he protested with a laugh.

“The sun’s too bright and you’ve got a hat,” she said.

“Here, I’ll trade you,” her father said, exchanging his too-big bucket hat for his sunglasses, and using his shirt to wipe the sunscreen off the lenses.

For a while, Sophie was incandescently happy, hand-in-hand with both of her parents as they strolled along parallel to the New Jersey beach, exclaiming over the different shops and vendors they passed on the boardwalk. Until Sophie spotted something that had her yanking her hand out of her mother’s to point.

“Mom, can I ride the horsey?” It was the sort of mechanical horse that you’d put a quarter into, and it would rock backward and forward to the delight of the child perched in its ‘saddle.’ “Pleeeeease?”

Reaching into her purse, Sophie’s mom extracted a quarter and handed it to her daughter, admonishing, “Just one ride. Then we’re going for lunch.”

“Okay.”

Sophie started to take off for the pony ride, but her mother stopped her, kneeling and hugging her daughter tightly from behind. “I love you, Soph’,” her mom whispered in her ear, like it was a secret.

“I’m gonna name the pony ‘Lucky,’” Sophie whispered back, and her mom laughed and released her.

Sophie was halfway to the horse when she noticed the smell. Whereas before the sweet scents of cotton candy and fried dough had filled the air, now a new stench was making itself known. It smelled like rot, and electricity, and…death. Clutching her quarter tightly in her hand, Sophie halted, stumbling a little over her feet. There was a sound…

“Sophie?” her father called from behind her. His voice seemed distorted somehow. “Aren’t you going to ride the horse?”

The smell got stronger and stronger—

Thirty-three-year-old Sophie Foster, Agent of the FBI, snapped awake, and the boardwalk was gone. It was nearly pitch-black, and she was standing on a patch of grass, and that horrible smell was almost a living thing in the night.

In place of the mechanical horse was…something big, very, very big, with enormous, twisted horns—

It let out a snort, and scuffed a hoof against the ground, and just like that Sophie was running in the opposite direction, only to slide in the mud, falling hard and rolling into a ditch. She heard the animal approaching, and she snatched her gun out of the holster on her hip – thank _God_ she had her sidearm with her – and fired several rounds right into the beast’s face.

It took too long, _too long,_ to scramble out of the slippery, muddy ditch and up into the trees along the – she was right by the highway, wasn’t she?, how the hell did she get here? – along the road, behind the guardrail. Clutching at her right leg, which she’d knocked against something when she fell, she ran as hard as she could for the trees. A glance behind her told her the animal was shaking off the bullets to the head, and with a snort it, too, ascended from the ditch, coming right at her.

Here under the trees the ground wasn’t as slick with mud, so she gained some speed, and when she thought she’d covered enough ground she ducked behind a broader trunk and hoped like hell the beast, whatever it was, didn’t have good eyesight. It probably wouldn’t be able to smell her, since she was caked all over with mud from the ditch.

Sophie focused hard on controlling her breathing, listening for the animal. The dull thud of its hooves slowed down, and she heard it snort in confusion. Then it turned and passed right behind her tree – God, that smell was overwhelming – and Sophie held her breath, desperately hoping it would pass her by. It snuffled along the ground for what seemed like an hour, and was probably only about ten seconds, before it let out a huff and its hoof-beats loped off to her right.

As soon as the sound had faded, Sophie clutched at her chest, breathing hard and feeling that she might vomit. The nausea passed quickly, though, and she rushed to pull her phone from the inside pocket of her coat – yes! It was still there. Wiping a shaky hand on her mostly-clean shirt, she cleared off enough of the mud that she could scroll through her contacts list.

That had been no ordinary animal. She definitely couldn’t call the FBI or the police. Crane didn't pick up when she dialed, so...

***

“Mills,” the Lieutenant said tersely into the phone. “Foster, slow down. Tell me what happened. A bull?” Abbie turned wide eyes on Ichabod, biting her top lip, and he sat forward on the couch, leaning toward the phone. “Hold on, I’m going to put you on speaker.” Pressing the button, she held the phone out between herself and Crane. “Start from the beginning.”

“I was at the office,” came Sophie’s tinny voice from the device. “And I must have fallen asleep, because I was dreaming—I was dreaming about my parents.” To the Agent’s credit, her voice only shook slightly, and from what Ichabod knew of her parents… “We were on the boardwalk—anyway, that’s not important. I woke up and I was out here by the highway – I must have been sleepwalking, you know, I had this really strange dream last night, too – and there was some kind of giant animal. It smelled awful, and it had some kind of—aura, I don’t know—”

“The beast was glowing?” questioned Ichabod.

“No,” answered Agent Foster. “It emanated _power._ I could feel it in the air, smell it – anyway, I hid behind a tree and it took off, but I don’t know what the hell—”

“Foster, where are you?” interrupted the Lieutenant.

“I’m on 117, I’m walking back toward town. Walking pretty fast,” she said, faint amusement in her voice.

“We’ll come fetch you,” he said, then looked to Abbie—to the Lieutenant for approval. She gave a quick nod.

“Okay,” said Agent Foster. “Do you know what this thing is?”

“We do,” confirmed the Lieutenant. “We’ll explain when we see you.”

“Great,” said Foster, on a sigh. “Oh, and you might want to bring a towel with you. I kind of…fell into a ditch.”

“See you soon,” Abbie said, and hung up. For a moment, she stared into the middle distance ahead of her, chewing at her lip, and Ichabod was hesitant to interpose in her thought process. If he was honest with himself, he was hesitant about most things regarding Abbie—the Lieutenant at present. “I should get dressed,” she said finally.

“Are you certain you should—?”

“Don’t fuss, Crane,” she snapped. “I’m fine.” When her gaze shifted to his eyes, her expression softened. “You helped with that,” admitted the Lieutenant.

“You know I am always willing to assist,” said Ichabod quietly. Although if she needed to so…entwine herself with him in future, he might find it difficult to exercise the restraint he’d – just barely – managed this time. Deprived of her company for one month and he was hardly able to curb the expression of the depths of his feelings for her.

“Thank you,” Abbie said, voice as soft as his. Reaching for his hand, she brushed her fingers against his, then retreated up the stairs to her bedroom to dress.

Abbie – _No,_ Ichabod scolded himself. _She must be the Lieutenant, even in your mind. Such familiarity is reserved for…_

He had made a resolution, and Captain Crane needed to summon the discipline to stick to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CUDDLING. (ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
> 
> Don't worry, I will at some point explain why Crane made this ridiculous decision.


	4. 4

“There! I’ve got it,” Jenny cried out, pointing at the screen of the laptop. “It fits all the criteria.”

Five people were gathered in the archives, having spent hours buried in research. Sophie had apparently called into work for the day – according to Abbie and Crane, once they dropped her off at her apartment to shower, she’d stayed awake the rest of the night, fearful that the Gallu would intrude on her dreams again. Now she sat in a chair, jiggling a leg with restless energy, bloodshot eyes focused on her phone.

At Jenny’s words, Crane and Abbie – seated as far away from each other as possible while still remaining in the same room – as well as Sophie and Joe himself looked up from their respective research.

“It’s a figurine of an ox, ancient Sumerian – wow, that’s actually really pretty,” Jenny continued, clicking on the photo to make it larger. “It matches the description you found, Joe.” She leaned back in her chair to flash him a grin.

“Let me have a look,” said Crane, shifting to stand up.

“Crane, you stay in that seat,” admonished Abbie as she crossed the room for a look at the laptop. “Your feet probably look like hamburger at this point, with the way you keep running around on ‘em.” Crane settled back down, dismayed.

“Here, I’ll turn it so you can see it, okay?” Jenny offered, swiveling the laptop screen. Joe, Sophie, and Abbie all approached to get a better view.

Sophie asked, “So where is it? How do we get it?”

“In a manor house east of Sleepy Hollow. It’s in a private collection owned by this guy Leonard Klein.” A picture of a middle-aged white man in a beige suit came up on the screen. “Says here that he rents out some of the rooms in the manor as function halls to fund his collection. That could be a good distraction,” Jenny said to her sister.

“Yeah, it could,” said Abbie, processing. “Okay. I’m thinking that two of us should get the figurine, and the other two distract whoever’s in charge by getting a tour of the house. Jenny, you’re best at infiltration,” she said, addressing the woman in question.

“Best at petty theft, you mean,” Jenny said, grinning. She nodded. “Okay. The website says the collection is on the second floor of the house, behind a locked door – they’re supposedly preparing some of it for public display, but that’s not until next month.”

“We don’t exactly have that kind of time,” said Joe.

“I should accompany Miss Jenny,” interjected Crane, looking nervous but determined.

Confused, Abbie said, “Why?”

“Because…” Floundering for a moment, Crane turned, somewhat desperately, in Joe’s direction, his expression begging for help.

“…Jenny and I might…get distracted if we’re together on the mission,” Joe improvised. It was only after he’d spoken that he began to question why he was supporting Crane’s avoidance of the elephant in the room.

Abbie regarded the two of them for a beat. “Fine. Joe and I will be the diversion.”

“Um,” put in Sophie. “What am I doing during all this?”

“You’re sleeping.”

“What?!”

“You didn’t sleep at all last night, Foster,” Abbie explained, patient but firm, “and we need you at full strength if we’re trapping a demon in—” she checked her cell phone. “—about seven hours.”

Jenny said, lightly, “That is probably the most hypocritical thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“Hey, I slept!” protested Abbie. “Put my head down on the pillow, was unconscious for—at least five hours, when we got back last night.”

“Three,” Crane said in a low voice.

“It was _five,_ ” Abbie insisted.

“Definitely three,” mumbled Crane.

“ _In any case,_ ” Abbie said, enunciating each word precisely, “I got more sleep than Foster here. Come on. We’ve got this, it’ll take us all of an hour, we’ll get in, get out, I can nap before sunset.”

“You’d better actually nap,” Jenny said, pointing an emphatic finger at her sister.

Time for Joe to get the hell out of the middle of this argument. “I’mmmmm gonna call the manor house and let them know we want a tour.” Snagging the laptop from Jenny to get the phone number, he retreated to the hallway.

***

They’d successfully bypassed the back gate and side entrance to the manor, sneaking past several staff members, and now Ichabod and Miss Jenny were creeping along an upstairs hallway in search of the correct door.

The Lieutenant’s voice echoed up the grand staircase. “Wow! Joe, this’ll be perfect for your birthday!”

“I don’t know.” Master Corbin sounded doubtful. “You know I wanted to have dancing, and this room’s kind of cramped.”

“The kinda dancing you and your friends like to do, I think cramped is better.”

“Listen, though, the most important thing: can we put a slip-and-slide in the backyard for the party?”

Even from this far away, Ichabod thought he could hear the tour guide holding her tongue. “I’ll have to speak to Mr. Klein, the owner of the establishment, about that.”

During this discourse, Miss Jenny had located the correct door – it was fairly obvious which it should be: there was a large padlock holding it shut. Ichabod kept a watch out while she utilized her lock-picking tools. With a muffled _clunk_ the padlock opened, and Miss Jenny tucked it into her messenger bag as they stepped inside, Ichabod gently closing the door behind them so as not to make a sound.

Beyond the door was another that  was considerably better protected. Ichabod stared in consternation at the electronic keypad.

“Don’t worry, I got this,” she murmured, digging in her bag. Ichabod leaned against the outer door, listening for anyone’s approach from the hallway. Not a sound. There was a series of beeps from behind him, and then a _hiss_ as the heavy steel door swung open.

“Oh man,” Miss Jenny said at a more normal volume, once they’d secured the door. “What I wouldn’t give to clear this room out.”

“Are the artifacts all supernatural?”

“No, only a few, but that – ” she pointed to a calligraphy set “—would be very helpful if we ever needed to make sure a contract was _really sealed._ ”

“We’re here for the one figurine,” he reminded her.

A regretful sigh. “I know.”

The pair efficiently scanned the shelves that made up the walls of the room, all filled with artifacts sealed in with glass doors. At the center of the room was an enormous sarcophagus with some fascinating engravings on the outside. Given more time, Ichabod would have liked to inspect it further and perhaps translate some of the runes, but he contented himself with peering inside: it was empty. Thank goodness. One never knew – it would be just their luck that the mummified corpse of an important historical figure lay inside, ready to enact an ancient curse. _Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof…_ The Gallu was quite enough to be getting on with, at the moment.

“Here it is,” said Miss Jenny from behind him, leaning in close to one of the glass cases. The bull figurine was exquisitely carved, and about the size of Ichabod’s hand. Miss Jenny bent to inspect the closure to the glass door when there came the sound of a muffled voice outside, and they heard the outer door open. They both froze.

“Is that empty?” murmured Miss Jenny, regarding the sarcophagus, but then she ran to it before he could answer. “We gotta get inside, come on.”

Moving swiftly, Ichabod assisted her into the large stone case, then clambered in after her. With an effort, they were together able to slide the unwieldy lid shut, and they were plunged into pitch dark.

The air felt hot and close where they lay within, and while there was room for them to lay side-by-side, Ichabod had to bend his knees to counter for his height. He found himself breathing inordinately hard, though the closing of the lid had been no great exertion. The sound of his breathing filled the tiny space, each inhalation seeming to burn his lungs, and he felt Miss Jenny turn her head towards him.

“Shhh,” she hushed, the tiniest exhalation.

Ichabod held his breath.

The beeps of the keypad sounded faintly in the outside world, and the door hissed open again. Footsteps crossed the room, and floorboards creaked. Ichabod clenched his fists tight enough that his fingernails began to cut into the flesh of his palms, as the interloping staff member paced their way around the artifact room.

After what seemed a decade, the staff member let out a confused “Hunh” and took probably another decade to exit once more. Before the outer door of the storeroom had closed, Ichabod began scrabbling at the sides of the coffin. It no longer felt like cold stone, but had the rough feeling of splintering wooden boards against his shaking hands.

“Crane?” came Miss Jenny’s voice as if from a long distance away, then there was a bright light in his eyes: her cell phone. There! A point of egress: the lid of the coffin. Ichabod shoved desperately at it. “Whoa, whoa!” her voice rang out again, and she was trying to control the slide of the lid. Heedless, he shoved his way out of the wretched box and pulled himself over the side –

Where he found himself quite unable to retain his footing, and sank to his knees. It felt as though his heart might burst from his chest, it was pounding so hard, and he couldn’t take a deep breath.

“Crane?” Ichabod just barely heard a voice behind him. “Did you touch an artifact or something? What the hell is going on?”

***

Abbie was bickering with Joe about the number of guests at his imaginary birthday party when her phone buzzed with a text.

“Sorry,” she said, and typed in the passcode to unlock the device.

_something wrong w/ crane, get up here NOW third door on the left up the stairs_

“Sorry,” she said again, “do you have a bathroom I could use?” Casting a look at Joe, she tried to send him a silent signal. He raised his eyebrows. Understood.

The tour guide told her where to go, Abbie thanked her, then as soon as she was out of sight, she darted for the stairs, climbing them as quickly and quietly as she could. The third door on the left was slightly ajar, and when Abbie reached the barrier of the steel door beyond she knocked softly and in a harsh whisper said, “Jenny!”

The door pulled open in front of her at once, and she squirmed through before it had even opened all the way, knocking her hair clip halfway out of her hair. She yanked it the rest of the way off, tucking it in her pocket. Her sister was babbling, “I don’t know what happened, he didn’t touch anything that I didn’t – ”

Crane was breathing hard and clutching his chest, one hand braced on the floor, and frantic alarm bells were going off in her mind. _Focus, Abbie._ “Did you get the figurine?”

“No, we hadn’t opened the case yet, it’s over there,” Jenny gestured.

“What were you doing?”

“Someone came in, they saw the door was open, we had to hide in there.”

In an enclosed coffin. _Oh, Crane._ Abbie dropped to her knees in front of him.

***

One minute he was seeing the edges of his vision go black, the next the Lieutenant was floating into view before him, her lovely face encircled by the curls of her hair, almost like a halo.

“Lieutenant,” he managed, gasping. She pried his hand away from his heart, clutching onto it, her petite fingers very warm against his clammy skin.

“Ichabod Crane, listen to me. You are out. You are free.” Unwarranted, Ichabod’s eyes clenched shut. “Hey, no, focus—Crane, _look at me._ ” It took an enormous effort of will to pry his eyes open once again.

She was so surpassingly beautiful. If his heart should give out right now, at least his last sight would be that of an angel.

“Look at me, okay? Follow my breath.”

“I can’t—”

“You can,” she said, and her voice was so calm, how could she possibly be so calm when he didn’t even know what was happening to his own body? “Come on, breathe with me, Ichabod.” Grasping his shoulder, she pulled him closer so their foreheads rested together, and she breathed slowly, deliberately. After a few gasping breaths, he managed a deeper one, and then another. “There. You’re safe, okay? You’re out in the air – Jenny, could you get the curtains? – there’s sunlight…”

The promised sunlight filled the room as Miss Jenny presumably pulled open the shades from the barred windows with a soft swishing noise.

“Just breathe.” Peripherally, Ichabod was aware that Miss Jenny was opening the case and retrieving the required artifact. “In…out…” Abbie’s thumb was rubbing small circles on his shoulder. He realized that he was clenching her other hand far too tightly in his. With another sharp inhale, he attempted to release her hand from his far larger one, but she grabbed at it again and wouldn’t let it go.

Eventually, after what seemed like hours, his respiration steadied. “…What _was_ that?” he queried, when he felt he had the breath.

Oh-so-gently, Abbie leaned forward and touched her lips to his. Then before it had fully registered to him what she’d done, she was rising from her position on the floor. “That,” she said, levering him up onto unsteady legs, “was a panic attack.”

“A _what?_ ”

“You remember you told me sometimes you used to jump at loud noises, think you were still on the battlefield? It’s like that, but way more so.”

“But what could have…?”

“Think, Crane. When was the last time you were closed into a box that small?”

At this, he glanced back to the hated sarcophagus. Realization dawned. “When Henry buried me in that coffin.”

“We’ve gotta go, people, we’ve been in here way too long.” Miss Jenny stepped abruptly into the conversation, and Ichabod, remembering himself, dropped the Lieutenant’s hand. “Joe’s good at distracting people, but…”

“Right. Okay.” How could the Lieutenant remain so stable through all of this, when he had crumbled apart at merely…a hiding place? “I’ll go out first, go back downstairs – you two know the back way out. Crane?” She turned her gaze up to him. “You gonna be all right?”

Unable to find the words, he simply nodded, and remained stationary, gathering himself.

Miss Jenny followed the Lieutenant to the door and he heard her whisper, disproportionately excited, “Did you just _kiss_ him?”

“We are not talking about this, Jenny,” the Lieutenant said, eyebrows raised, then with a last glance at Ichabod, ducked out the door.

Fortunately for their mission, Ichabod was coming slowly back into a true awareness of the present situation. Unfortunately for him, that meant that his feet once again felt as though he’d affixed barbs to the inside soles of his boots. Examination of the source of pain in the palms of his hands revealed that he had gouged little white half-moons into his skin with his fingernails. “You have my apologies, Miss Jenny,” he said when he finally redirected his attention to her.

Miss Jenny was already passing through the steel door, and at his words looked over her shoulder, hissing quietly, “Apology accepted, but shhhh!”

Snapping to, he joined her and they made their painstaking way back through the manor and out the side door. It wasn’t until they were picking their way through the woods beyond – they’d planned to meet Master Corbin and the Lieutenant some ways down the road, as it wouldn’t do to arrive all in the same vehicle – that Miss Jenny truly responded to his earlier words.

“I’m the one who should be sorry. I should have known not to pull you into that coffin.” Miss Jenny’s brow was heavy with regret. “I’ve seen panic attacks before, and I should’ve figured after what Henry did to you—”

“I in no way hold you accountable,” Ichabod said absently. Most of his attention was still focused on stilling his shaking hands. “…To think that panic alone could reduce a person so…”

“Felt like you couldn’t breathe, right? Like you were dying?”

“As though my heart were one beat away from its last,” he confirmed, puzzled. “How did you know?”

“That’s what my friends who’ve had them have told me.” She gave him a half-smile. “My line of work, you meet a lot of people who are more than a little broken.”

This left Ichabod with much to ponder, and Miss Jenny was kind enough to leave him to his thoughts for the remainder of their walk to the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how psyched I am with this chapter, tbh. Still don't have a beta-reader, though (HINT HINT), so it's goin' up as is. Please let me know what you think!


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